Welcome to the sixth edition of #MattyMonday, the streaming debuts of songs from my new album “Meta Dada”. Get caught up on previous releases: 

Episode 1: Tracks 1 & 2: “Satan Gave Me Sunglasses” and “Media Casualty” 

Episode 2: Tracks 3 & 4: “In Our Coldest Time and “Mild” 

Episode 3: Tracks 5 & 6: “I Need Another Vice” and “Sunburn” 

Episode 4: Tracks 7 & 8: “Ode to Jove” and “Untrue & Not Enough” 

Episode 5: Tracks 9 & 10: “Lust” and “Lady Circadia” 

As always, the best way to experience the album is consecutively and on vinyl; records are available at Rock N’ Roll Land and Green Bay UFO Museum in GB, at Eroding Winds in Appleton, and online via my Bandcamp page. But hey, in this cultural economy? I’m glad you’re checking out the songs in any method. 

If you haven’t heard the songs before, I recommend listening to them first before reading all the context and lyrics. For those who have heard the music, I hope these posts add mad magnificence to your “Meta Dada” experience. 

All right, gang. Final stretch here. I’m finally making good on my original intention of just doing one song at a time. “Meta Dada” happens to end with the album’s two longest songs, so let’s give ‘em their own moment to shine.  

This next song got the most feedback at the release shows, no doubt thanks to Oliver Anderson’s badass video, which is finally making its digital debut as well. 

Track 11: “Midnight Diesel” 

Listen to “Midnight Diesel” on Bandcamp 

Listen to “Midnight Diesel” on Spotify 

The players 

Monologue: Jordan Le May 

Saxophones: Marc Jimos 

Drums, Percussion, Back-Up Vocals: Ryan Seefeldt 

Electrical Devices: Alex Drossart, Matty Day 

Keys: Alex Drossart 

Electric Baritone Guitar, Upright Bass, Glass Jars: Matty Day 

The session 

As fate would have it, this would be the last song we recorded at The Refuge. There were some talks about some changes with the status of the property that had us sort of feeling like we were living on borrowed time for quite a while, but we finished tracking this one before any definitive moves were made. Well, almost; there was this weird little bell on one of the doors in the basement there—a door bell, if you will—that quite magically was in this song’s key of B-flat. I discovered this potentially righteous coincidence after we’d shut down for the night, and assumed I’d have a shot the next week to add it. 

Alas, t’was not to be, though the song is hardly lacking for sonic curiosities. 

For the opening monologue, we’d intended to have Sam’s old German foreign exchange student record it, but Sam couldn’t get a hold of him. As we’d had one of Sam’s friends who natively speaks a foreign language record the opening monologue for “In Our Coldest Time”, that would’ve been a fitting route, but nein.  

Then, while visiting some friends at the delightful Green Bay spot Amphora, I was perchance introduced to a lady who lives here, but whose first language is German. We walked outside, and on the sidewalk on Broadway, she graciously recorded the monologue. I was hoping the spontaneity would yield an exciting, unexpected winner of a recitation, but I don’t think I was comfortable coaching her to get the right emotion, not to mention the cars on Broadway were far louder on the recording than they seemed in the moment. This was a bummer—I loved how random it was, the fact that she was a native German for authenticity, and since it’s a driving song, thought the sound of cars passing was a cool bonus. 

Then it hit me: Chickenbone. Yes, my friend Jordan, while not a German native, is not only fluent in the language, but has a very distinct vocal timbre, and is an honest-to-goodness 60+-hours-a-week trucker. What he lacked in full-on Germanness he more than made up for with legitimate truckertude. Bless that man’s heart, he must have sent me 30 takes of this monologue, and it was very tough to narrow down to one, but I chose this one on account of the most like a dejected James Dean, and with all the great genuine diesel engine sounds. 

My biggest splurge for the album was buying an electric baritone guitar specifically for this song. I tuned it down to B-flat because one of my other splurges was a set of harmonicas in different keys. Typically the low string on a baritone is B, but for whatever reason harmonica sets have a B-flat instead of a B. 

Because we love Ryan Seefeldt and beg him to hang out with us all the time, but rarely get to unless there’s recording involved, we got Ryan to do the drums on this one. Oddly it was kind of like “Mild” where we looped him doing a bit of pounding on the toms. Sometimes we just know in our hearts when he’s the right guy for the job. His additional vocal bits are just perfect, too. 

Also like “Mild”, my lyrics entirely dictated the structure, so again we basically just made an endless loop of the main groove, I threw down vocals, and then we built around it.  

Part of that groove included upright bass. Go figure, with just one song left that needed it, the upright bass I’d indefinitely been lent by my pal Dan Kimpel was suddenly destroyed by my tiny kitten, who seriously weighed a pound, yet with a single bound, decided to jump onto and immediately off of the bass which was leaning in a corner, and tipped it over before it could be caught, landing headstock first on a stereo speaker and entirely snapping off the neck. It was devastating. The String Instrument Repair Shop in Green Bay took one look and said “nope.” Eventually my friend Jason Berken, who happens to be Bob Dylan’s guitar tech, somehow managed to get it rather back together, but that wouldn’t come until later. For this song I was graciously lent a replacement by my Muddy Udders/Gung Hoes/Rodeo Borealis brotha Roelke Barnhart. (I paid Dan for his bass, by the way, and he had several of his own, so it was all good. And I eventually forgave the cat. And bought a stand for the repaired bass.) 

The other “instruments” I played were glass jars, which as humility would have it I was tuning (experimenting by filling them with different amounts of water) while my mother-in-law was staying over at our house one night, which made me feel not altogether cool or normal. And then there were the “tools” Alex and I played: electric shavers, blenders, a drill, and a hairdryer. Here’s a clip of us adding those sweet sounds.

Alex also had the idea to add some organ throughout, which turned out to be an ace move. 

Then the real star was Marc Jimos. His session for this song predated the one for “Lust”, so this was my first time meeting him. Again, I sure felt cool and not at all ridiculous “playing” glass jars in front of him. He played baritone and alto sax, and man was he good, and was just game for whatever we had him do. I loved his freakout and free jazz playing in the middle. 

Uh, Matty, what’s the deal here 

As I’ve said, I had ideas for most of this album’s songs for quite a while, in some cases up to 15 years. The idea for this song, though, only came to me while I was sizing up the project and the tracklist. I just started plunking out that incessant riff on an unamplified electric guitar, and it felt like some kinda lost Bloodshot Bill groove. The rest of the riffs and rhythmic sax parts I came up with just jamming around on it. The main riff doubled by sax and glass jar clinks, though, is approximately one that I once brought to a near-supergroup few know was dangerously close to existing, consisting of moi, Travis Pashek, Bill Grasley, and Jason Bank (of Bron Sage, Twelves, and Threadmaker fame). What could’ve been! And still could be. But for now, I found too good a home for that chromatic sucker. 

I loved the idea of giving this album some kind of cornerstone, some steady, heavy rhythm amid all the stylistic shifts and key changes and such. Trying to chase down a chord to switch to, as one would clearly assume would happen, proved almost comically fruitless—every time I tried, it felt like I was trying, and I’d laugh it off and just keep going in that same B-flat; anything else felt like it undermined the gravity or betrayed the potential mission. I had read in the 33 1/3 series’ (which is essentially what I’m writing about my own album across these blogs) book on Elvis Costello’s “Armed Forces” that “Big Boys” had been his attempt at writing a song in one key. I didn’t intend to actually meet that challenge, but the theme of the song was also well suited to a ceaseless key. (Adriano Celentano’s Italian-gibberish jam “Prisencolinensinainciusol” is another that achieves the feat.)

Like I wrote about “Untrue & Not Enough”, the stage felt finally set to make some kind of statements at this point in the album, which also coincided with the songs being increasingly skeletal as I set about finishing them. The themes of “Lust”, “Lady Circadia”, and “Midnight Diesel” are massive, and it was a trip to try and offer something original and interesting about them. 

If all was ultra dandy having found love with Lady C, this one’s a reminder how “at the end of the day” it’s still just you, me—the individual, one’s sole thoughts, and above all, will. Pun intended: what drives you. Swagger in the face of nothingness. Active nihilism. I’ve referenced Nietzsche so many times throughout this album that I just ditch the pretense and start with a direct quote from the master existentialist, though Jung gets love, too, as does Shakespeare again—sometimes you’ve got to draw from mighty strengths and make it all mean something. Imposition, persistence, struggle, tactical monstrosity. Clearly more like beat poetry than any anthem, but I did want to make this a real-gone bit of post-post-Christian motivation for when only the psychotic survive. If the people on that foolhardy Titatnic-exploring submarine had had this song playing in there, they could’ve busted out and swam to shore. 

Ohhh okay… sometimes I’m just having fun with words and vocals, like lifting from indecipherable Sly Stone-isms. But the wordplay on its own doesn’t add up to much unless it’s got some sort of ethos or virtue behind it. 

Lastly, since the song begins with the quote from Thus Spoke Zarathustra (the subtitle for which influenced my album’s unofficial subtitle), I tried to have its ending resemble the dramatic music of Richard Strauss’ “Also Sprach Zarathustra”. 

Lyrics 

(Translated from Friedrich Nietzsche:) 

O man! Take heed! 

What saith deep midnight’s voice indeed? 

(Approximately) 

Ladies and gentlemen, now I’ll teach you 

“Midnight Diesel”, by Matthew Day 

I look in my backseat—still empty 

We billow like banshees smokin’ wendigo teeth 

(Puff puff pass) 

Blast with a buzz, my stuff’s up to snuff 

I top off n’ roll-a my rocks off the cuff 

There goes the sunnn… 

I keep on, with my Midnight Diesel, babe 

I been up all night, but I’m lookin’ alright 

Fine shape for roughin’ it, 

Cruise through what I’m confronted with 

Find a limit n’ forget it— 

High beams n’ white-knuckle grip 

If Hades takes the hindmost, 

My road’s a blur of signposts—bygone 

Thanks to midnight diesel, 

Anti-freeze n’ Cecil B. Demille 

The streets were damp n’ cinematic 

I’m drivin’ with no music 

Nothin’ good goes down post-midnight, 

But this ain’t about good—evil, either 

Initiate my engine with ether injection 

If I need to 

Whatever it takes, whatever it gives 

Mileage and millimeters 

No highlight reels  

On these here theatre streets 

Where the dark eats the details 

And I devour midnight diesel 

And prevail post-haste 

With just a taste—just a measly drizzle 

But I got tons: a gazillion glistenin’ gallons! 

C’mon: let’s make another last run! 

Roll through the tunnel! 

Soon the sun’ll come up! 

Rev like a devil! 

Struggle is your gospel! 

Ride the live coil! 

Anything is possible! 

…This, too. 

The only way out is through. 

To do, or not to do? 

Ain’t but one A for that Q, Matthew 

Man, screw the moon… 

Shabby second-hand glare… 

You who reject reality 

And condemn the concrete, 

Hem n’ haw like you’re writing a memoir 

Last Man fantasy 

Oh have fun on ze Autobahn 

With your autopilot on! 

So solemn, humble piety, 

If I could be you…ugh… 

To thee it means nada— 

Price of beans in Guadalajara 

To me it’s everything, the only thing, 

My main squeeze—this is LOVE! 

Just around midnight 

Deeeez what? 

Da-da-da-da Diesel 

Ooh demoralized, distressed, 

In the low-trust Midwest, 

Yet onward I press, 

The evening my easel 

Annihilation assured, 

Wrack my brain, frack my past 

Tap my private reserves— 

Swerve like a midflight eagle 

Weave between warlocks, 

Pursuin’ proverbial Fort Knox 

Ain’t about arriving— 

It’s becoming someone who can 

And without that need to get through this, 

I wouldn’t stand a chance 

N’ ‘deed I do! 

…With my midnight juice 

I sip on, put the slip on oblivion 

Tune up! Say the loud part loud! 

No right route once the light’s out 

No way but your way—hey nowwww 

If this ain’t all in my head then where is it? 

Grinnin’ like a butcher’s beagle 

A boogle of weasels can’t 

Cease this upheaval 

Let the midnight diesel… 

The video 

A driving video made quite a bit of sense. I was originally thinking something real goony, along the lines of Rob Zombie’s “Dragula” video. I don’t quite remember when we decided against the green screen—this one came together super quickly, as in, Ollie and I got together three days before filming it. The deer monster was 100% his vision and construction. Sam and Ryan both helped immensely with the shoot.  

My good friend Chris Quezada is the owner of that sweet car, a 1951 Chevrolet Styleline, affectionately known as Stella Diver. We filmed this in December, and I completely lucked out: Chris just happens to not winterize his car; virtually anyone else I would have asked would’ve had his car in storage that time of year. I had not thought about his stickers showing up on camera, but I loved how Muddy Udders made it in. 

He also brought his stepson Andrew along, which was fortuitous. Not only did we end up needing every bit of help we could on the shoot, but Ryan, who donned the deer monster costume outside, turned out to be too huge to fit in the backseat while wearing it, so suddenly that was young Andrew’s job, and he aced it. 

I was already on my way to Appleton for the shoot when I noticed I’d forgotten my switchblade. Go figure, Chris, classic car owner, happened to have one on him. Really blowing apart the stereotypes there, buddy! Really loved what that added, though.  

Oddly enough we filmed this outside of Amano Print House and The Refuge, the two studios where the album was recorded. The very last scene we filmed at The Cold Shot. I bought us a bunch of tequila shots as props, not thinking about how free water would’ve looked identical. The bottle of Stella was necessary, though, as an Easter egg reference to Q’s wheels. 

The first two videos for the album were obviously a bit more literal, or connected to the music, which is exactly what I’d wanted, and I loved how they turned out. Music videos always operate on a spectrum of being a straight representation of the music being performed, to something abstract and detached from the performance, and this one was clearly the latter. The fact that Ollie managed this absolute coolness for such a long song—while getting the projections for the release shows done and finishing his short film “Four White Owls” for the show opener—just makes him an all-time legend in my book and as impressively reliable as he is creative. Really pumped for his next projects; check out his website for more of his work. 

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And then there was one. Tune in next week for the grand finale of “Meta Dada”. 

-Matty